


Cogitare

by Straight_Outta_Hobbiton



Category: Star Trek
Genre: Gen, Metaphysical Roadtrip, Philosophical tangents, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-19 03:33:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14865818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Straight_Outta_Hobbiton/pseuds/Straight_Outta_Hobbiton
Summary: In which there is a car, a road, and a series of sentient beings beyond normal Human comprehension talking about life.





	1. The Nature of Change

**Author's Note:**

> If you would like to see the art that inspired this fic, please go to:
> 
> http://bravinto.tumblr.com/post/174638312862/heres-our-turn-for-startrekreversebang-heres
> 
> Their art is fantastic and everyone should go and enjoy it!

The gas station appears to be empty when the car with the top down pulls up and the driver steps out. They always appear to be empty, in his experience, but they rarely ever are.

 

Glancing at the pump, the man nods to himself and ambles up to the dusty little general store attached to the station. The metal frame of the glass door scrapes across the linoleum when he pushes it open, a little bell overhead jingling when the door makes contact with its tarnished silver rim.

 

As expected, there’s a man behind the counter, idly paging through a tabloid magazine as a small fan buzzes by his elbow. He hardly looks up when the man wanders in, returning to his reading without giving the stranger a second thought. He probably gets a lot of strangers here— the man isn’t so unusual.

 

The store itself seems to have a fine layer of grease and dust over its entire interior. The faded posters advertising cigarettes, soda, and the scantily-clad women who enjoy them are yellowed with age, sunlight, and cigarette smoke, their once-bright, white smiles faded until their teeth are hardly distinguishable from the rest of their faces. Music plays quietly from a radio set high on a shelf where a television might have once sat, static occasionally interrupting quiet crooning in a language no one knows, not even the man.

 

The man eyes the small refrigerator of drinks idly before propping it open, pulling out a can of some kind of soda. He doesn’t recognize the brand, but according to the label, it’ll taste vaguely of artificial oranges.

 

Decision made, he takes the soda and puts it on the counter, digging into the back pocket of his plain brown slacks for his wallet.

 

“Twenty on pump three,” he says, setting the money on the counter. “And a pack of reds.”

 

The man doesn’t smoke— it wasn’t the thing to do, where and when he came from— but he has the feeling he ought to purchase them anyway. He’s long since learned to trust his feelings when it comes to things like this.

 

The man behind the counter stirs, setting aside his magazine and pushing himself off of the little stool on which he’d been sitting. There’s a heavy clunk of metal against linoleum that accompanies the movement, implying a prosthetic, or perhaps cyborgism.

 

“I’ll need to see some ID,” the man says, already reaching for the money.

 

Sighing, the other man opens his wallet again, sliding out a driver’s license he didn’t realize he had until that moment.

 

The man behind the counter looks over the license, brow furrowing slightly as he reads before smoothing out again.

 

“Sisko, huh?” he asks, handing back the ID. “That’s… Finnish, isn’t it?”

 

Sisko shrugs.

 

“It’s mine,” he says. “That’s enough.”

 

The man nods absently, the register groaning open under his hands before eating the money Sisko had set on the counter. He reaches behind him without looking, tugging a red packet of cigarettes off the shelf before placing it on the counter.

 

“Want a bag?” he asks.

 

Sisko shakes his head.

 

“No, thank you,” he says. “Have a nice day.”

 

“You too.” The man behind the counter settles back onto his stool and picks up his magazine, the interaction apparently over.

 

The bell jingles again when Sisko pulls the door open and steps out into the wall of heat that is the outside, the door scraping against the linoleum. It’s a dry, baking sort of heat, like he’s stepped into an oven. Sisko has felt this kind of heat before, back when he was a Starfleet officer and was required to go to conferences on planets like Vulcan, but he knows this isn’t Vulcan, or any other place he’s been before.

 

This fact (because it is a fact, to Sisko) doesn’t bother him as much as it once might have.

 

There’s a boy— a teenager, really— leaning against the driver’s side of his car when Sisko goes back to the pump, unbothered by the heat despite his rather atrociously-patterned long-sleeve shirt and jeans. His hair is slicked back, his dark eyes warm as he looks Sisko over.

 

“You don’t have to do this kind of stuff, you know,” he says as Sisko approaches him. “Getting gas, buying drinks— you don’t need those kinds of things.”

 

He doesn’t, Sisko knows, but there is a kind of comfort in the ritual of it all, a reason to pull over and take a moment for himself.

 

He looks down at the cigarettes in his hands.

 

“You don’t need these, either,” he says, tossing the boy the pack. “But you like them.”

 

The boy smiles.

 

“Point,” he says. “Thanks.”

 

Sisko steps around the car and pulls the pump from its holster. The boy, apparently uncaring of the ‘no smoking’ sign nailed to the beam holding the pump in place, tears the plastic off the pack and tucks a cigarette into his mouth, pulling a small box of matches out of the breast pocket of his shirt and lighting up.

 

“I’m Wesley,” he says around his cigarette. “Wesley Crusher.”

 

“Benjamin Sisko,” Sisko says. “Where’s your car?”

 

“I don’t need a car,” Wesley says.

 

Yeah. Sisko can understand that.

 

“Where are you headed?” he asks instead, watching the boy blow rings up into the open air.

 

“Wherever,” Wesley says. “Whenever. You know?”

 

“I know.” Sisko arches an eyebrow. “Want a ride?”

 

Wesley grins.

 

“Sure,” he says. “That’d be great.”

 

He hops into the backseat without further adieu, stretching out across the tan leather seats with his head propped up in his hands, elbow leaned against the edge of the window.

 

Sisko tanks up the car, replaces the pump, and circles the car again, slipping back into the driver’s seat. He didn’t take the keys inside with them, since no one would think to steal the car here, and with a twist is roars back to life.

 

After a moment, the radio flips on, as well, tuning itself until it finds an appropriate station. [Classical Terran music begins to play, starting out with slow, ethereal guitar and followed by drums and a soft, strange voice.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cln_1lthtC0)

 

Sisko glances back at Wesley, who seems unbothered by his look, then shrugs and pulls out of the gas station.

 

A little music is just fine, for now.


	2. The Nature of Going Home

 

Sisko didn’t buy a lighter at the gas station. Wesley laments his short-sightedness once he realizes the special kind of difficulty that comes from lighting a cigarette when the top is down on a moving vehicle, and rather loudly, too, especially when he wastes his remaining matches.

 

(He doesn’t seem to care that a lighter wouldn’t fair much better against the dry winds whipping through his hair and extinguishing the weak flames, one after another. For all that he comes off as a smart kid, he’s sorta dumb.)

 

Wesley talks a lot. That’s the first thing Sisko notices. Not about anything particularly important— stories, mostly, of his travels, of worlds that Sisko might one day see, pretty girls and twin suns and engineering feats like nothing Starfleet could ever touch.

 

(Sisko gets the feeling that Wesley is sort of a nerd. He thinks Jake would like him.)

 

“I think I might go back into Starfleet, one day,” Wesley says two hours into their drive. “My mom would like it, at least. She worries about me a lot.”

 

“That’s what parents do,” Sisko says.

 

“You’d know,” Wesley shoots back almost carelessly, even though Sisko’s pretty sure he hasn’t mentioned Jake or the baby that had been on the way when he’d left. He doesn’t really mind, though— Sisko realized somewhere in the first hour of Wesley’s rambling that he knows too much for his own good, and whether that’s because of what he’s become or just because he’s just obscenely curious mixed with a little bit of nosy, Sisko isn’t sure.

 

“I just don’t know if I should,” Wesley continues, returning to the topic at hand. “I mean, I’m  _ different,  _ now. I know about things that Starfleet won’t touch for _ millenia— _ how am I supposed to content myself with prehistoric tech?”

 

“Well,” Sisko says slowly. “You seem to be fine right now.”

 

Wesley flaps a hand at him.

 

“This is different,” he says dismissively. “This whole place is different, have you noticed? It feels like Earth— like it used to be, anyway— but there are all sorts of little things that don’t match up with historical fact. It’s like— like glitches, in the programming of the universe.”

 

Sisko has the vague suspicion that the place they’re in doesn’t really exist at all— or rather, it didn’t exist until someone— probably Sisko— wanted it to. Sisko’s always liked the sort of classical Terran films that depicted the American country like this, just wide, and open, and endless. The nostalgia he feels, mixed with the reality that was his life, could feasibly create a place like this, if he wanted it. Perhaps he did.

 

“Should I rejoin Starfleet?”

 

And there’s the heart of Wesley’s musings, really. Not if he _ wants to,  _ not if he _ can,  _ but if he  _ should. _

 

It’s a big question, one that Sisko hasn’t bothered to ask himself, because he already has his answer. For Sisko, his path may not be clear, but he knows this much: Starfleet will never be his home again.

 

For him, that’s perfectly alright. One day, one day soon, he’ll find Kassidy and Jake again, he’ll meet his unborn child that he’s certain is a girl, even if he’s never held her or seen her face. He’ll probably see the rest of his family, too, in time— he’ll have to, in order to ensure the pieces fall as they ought.

 

He’ll see them all again, but he’ll never return to Starfleet. It’s not his place, not when he has the Prophets at his back, the universe laid out before him. His abilities would be wasted there, his frustrations would only grow— how would he take an order from an Admiral when he already knew the outcome? He would try to change things, and inevitably make them worse— people who try to change the future always make things worse.

 

But Wesley isn’t Sisko, and Sisko isn’t Wesley. As far as Sisko can tell, they aren’t even the same kind of metaphysical being, which is strange to think about, until it isn’t anymore. Wesley, as far as Sisko can gather, was Human before he became a Traveller, while Sisko always had the blood of the Prophets in his veins. Wesley was young when he left. He still looks it, too, and likely will continue to wear that slightly rounded face and gawky frame until he decides otherwise. Sisko wonders if that thought has occurred to him yet.

 

Wesley is _ still  _ incredibly young, in some ways. Sisko senses things from him not unlike the things he knew about Jake, an underlying nervousness still strong under a projection of casual confidence and bravado. He still needs guidance in his life, and he seems to know it, too. That’s probably why he ended up leaning against Sisko’s car in a gas station.

 

Starfleet would provide that guidance, if Wesley were to return. He still thinks in a painfully linear fashion— he’s still Human, under all that metaphysical, omniscient flash. A path to follow is likely what he wants, more than Starfleet itself. Wesley doesn’t seem the type to handle rules and regulations very well, too bent on seeing his own ideas and truths flourish and solve the problems the universe has laid out for him.

 

Wesley pointed out earlier that he has knowledge of technology Starfleet won’t be able to touch for another thousand years. The impulse to introduce it earlier than what would be natural is… a difficult one to control. Sisko’s been on First Contact missions, he knows how it is. But the Prime Directive is there for a reason, and it applies to the Federation itself just as much as any other.

 

He should wait, just for a little while. Let himself get more comfortable in his own skin, in the way the universe has to work. Then, maybe, he can revisit the idea. He’s ageless, timeless, not limited by the things most Humans are. He can take all the time he needs, and return when he’s ready, when there isn’t the constant wish for more clouding his thoughts, making him unhappy in the life he’d be making for himself as an officer, as a man who has to obey the chain of command regardless of his agreement.

 

(Unless, of course, he manages to find himself far enough away from Starfleet to bend the rules a little bit, like Sisko did. Then, perhaps, he might be able to find life in the service just a little bit easier.)

 

“You have a point,” Wesley muses, even though Sisko hadn’t spoken. “I could always do it later, when I’m sure. I wasn’t sure last time, and look how that turned out.”

 

Scandals and displeasure and rebelliousness abound, Sisko knows without trying too hard, ending in Wesley’s disappearance and Dr. Beverly Crusher’s heartache.

 

“Take your time,” Sisko says. “It’ll all work out how it should.”

 

Wesley hums in agreement, then sits up in his seat, leaning dangerously over the edge of the car. It’s dark now, and the stars are out, the moon shining gold overhead.

 

“There’s someone waiting for us,” he says, pointing out across the desert towards a small, speck of light, too close to the ground to he a star.

 

“Yes,” Sisko agrees, turning to look.

 

“Are we going?”

 

“I thought we might.”

 

“Good.” Wesley slides back into his seat. “Think they’ll have a light?”

 

Sisko hums.

 

“I think they’ll have something even better,” he says, turning at the next crossroad to head for the light.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“I have absolutely no idea.”


	3. The Nature of a God

Kes is blonde and apparently an Ocampa, from the planet Ocampa. She does happen to have a light— or rather, she is the light, because the moment she’s settled in the backseat and notices the smoke that Wesley’s been between his lips, she reaches up with her forefinger and produces a small, flickering flame.

 

“Gee, thanks, Kes,” Wesley says, leaning forward to light his cigarette.

 

“Your welcome, Wesley,” Kes says, her smile sweet and easy. “It’s always exciting to meet friendly people when you’re out traveling like this, you know?”

 

Sisko hums.

 

“Have you met many unfriendly people in your travels, Kes?” he asks, meeting her gaze in the rearview mirror.

 

Kes sighs reluctantly.

 

“On occasion,” she admits. “There were a few Q, of course— not all of them so nice as the Q that likes Captain Janeway so much— and the Ms, and a few others. Oh! If either of you happen to meet a fellow by the name of Trelane, I highly suggest you run the other way. He’s mean, and more than a little crazy, I think. Can you turn on the music?”

 

Sisko reaches over and punches the button on the radio. Static fills the air for a moment before settling on something Terran. Classic rock, Sisko’s pretty sure.

 

“I’ve met a Q,” Sisko muses. “Back when I was still commanding Deep Space Nine. I punched him in the face.”

 

Kes claps a hand over her mouth to contain her giggles.

 

“Really?” she asks, eyes wide. _“Why?”_

 

“He kept comparing me to Picard,” Sisko says. “I didn’t like that.”

 

“Picard?” Wesley flicks his cigarette, sitting up slightly. “Hey, I think I know which Q you’re talking about!”

 

“Do you? Small universe.”

 

“Not really,” Kes says. “I feel like I could spend the rest of eternity jumping from place to place, and I still wouldn’t see everything there is to see.”

 

She’s right, of course, though it’s clear she recognizes the phrase for what it is. The universe is practically unending, and while all three of them are essentially immortal, essentially ageless, and essentially all-powerful, they are not omnipresent.

 

“We’re not gods,” Wesley agrees.

 

“We could be,” Kes says, thoughtful more than anything. “I’ve been thinking about it, and— well, it’s a little vain to try and _really_ be a god, but… there aren’t exactly any prerequisites to being a god, if you know what you’re doing. You just have to be more powerful— and mysterious, I suppose— than the people who believe in you.”

 

“The Prophets are worshipped by the people of Bajor,” Sisko says. “They made an attempt, some centuries ago, now, to help the people of Bajor, communicating with them through various alien artifacts that became holy relics in their religion.”

 

“They gave a prophecy about you, didn’t they?” Wesley asks, trying and failing miserably to blow smoke rings. “About you being the Emissary.”

 

“They did, yes,” Sisko agrees. “It was… an interesting time.”

 

“A prophecy?” Kes asks. “Why a prophecy?”

 

Sisko shrugs.

 

“Maybe they weren’t able to take physical form at the time,” he says, shrugging. “They were young, I think, when they elected to serve the people of Bajor.”

 

“Maybe they realized that mortals don’t usually take kindly to humanoid vessels wandering around declaring to know the future,” Wesley says almost idly. “I mean, just look at Terran religions— Jesus was murdered, even if he got better after, and Muhammad was poisoned.”

 

“The Buddha died in his eighties, as did Laozi,” Sisko points out.

 

“Yeah, but they weren’t talking about a man in the sky who knew everyone’s destiny,” Wesley says. “They were just telling people not to be dicks to each other and find inner peace with nature and stuff. Right?”

 

“... Sort of.” Sisko pauses. “Except, the Buddhists slaughtered thousands of Daoists, historically, and also told people not to follow any one leader, which would cause problems in most societies.”

 

“But that’s on the people, not the religious texts. People are always stupid, no matter who they pray to.” Wesley flicks the cigarette butt out into the wind, promptly reaching to light another. “Just look at everything that happened to the Jews.”

 

“Maybe that was why they chose their method of communication,” Kes says thoughtfully. “These artifacts they used would provide cold, hard proof for generations to come of their existence. Their ideologies would remain sound, their rules obeyed— after all, who would try and turn from a god they knew for a fact existed, regardless of scientific innovation and explanation? It would be hard to start up a new religion in the face of the occasional prophecy.”

 

Wesley hums thoughtfully.

 

“I guess. But they aren’t gods— right, Sisko?”

 

“... The Prophets are a very powerful people,” he says after a moment of deliberation. “And they are certainly godlike to many races in the universe. But they are not gods as I was raised to believe in them. They still have their flaws, like all beings.”

 

“So what makes a god, really?” Kes asks. “What makes a creature worthy of worship in the eyes of others?”

 

Well, that’s a delicate question. Sisko can sense Kes has some experience in the subject— as does Sisko— so he needs to choose his words carefully, because—

 

Because what does a god need to be a god? Power? Kings have power. The Federation has power. Sisko himself, half-Human as he is, has power. That can’t be all it is.

 

People find comfort in gods, pray for sickness to pass or for loved ones to be comforted in the afterlife. But why do they do that? Why do they need that?

 

Kindness, Sisko realizes after a moment. Compassion. Those are aspects required in a god. Compassion for those under their care, kindness towards those they have taken responsibility for. Their power must be used selflessly, openly, to help others unable to help themselves.

 

“But that’s not all,” Kes murmurs. “I’ve looked into the gods of Humans, before— their are cruel gods, too, and gods who are both kind and wrathful in turn.”

 

“They’re used as explanations,” Wesley says. “When things are terrible and the god that promises health and happiness doesn’t step in, they need an explanation. If there’s an evil god to blame it on, or an angry god, or even just a god’s plan, then there’s a reason for it, isn’t there? One that people can understand.”

 

“Gods thrive best as enigmas to the people they care for,” Sisko says after a moment. “They’re worshipped when their power is an unknown variable, save for what it’s done to help their believers.”

 

“Plus, you have to assume that gods— if every single one in the universe is real, and not another tool of control of explanation— are all sort of like us,” Wesley adds. “If that’s the case, then they’re flawed. They have all the same feelings as anyone else, whether they care to admit it or not, and those things can affect how they treat their followers.”

 

Kes stays quiet, a thoughtful look on her pale face, like she’s torn between disagreeing (because that can’t be all it is) and something else. Sisko can’t quite put his finger on it.

 

“I think,” he says slowly, deliberately. “That the things that make a god are the same things found in all life. Empathy, will, and the wish to help others. The only difference between people like the Prophets and any other single being in the universe is simply… mystique.”

 

“... I think that could be a nice way to think about it,” Kes says, head tilting prettily to one side. “The idea that… everyone has the ability to be a god, just by being… good.”

 

There’s a beat of silence as the thought settles. Her words don’t do justice to what she means, the thoughts and emotions that flicker between the three of them. It’s… a summary, a synopsis, imperfect but important, even in its imperfection. It’s nearly there, really.

 

“Got a light, Kes?” Wesley asks.

 

[“Sure.” Kes turns to Wesley, holding out a long, dainty finger. Sisko watches the flames dance up her wrists in the rearview mirror, moving up her hand to bloom into a single, red spark at the tip of her fingernail. His eyes find the road again after a moment, because it wouldn’t do for them to get in an accident, even if they could survive it. He rather likes this car.](http://bravinto.tumblr.com/post/174638312862/heres-our-turn-for-startrekreversebang-heres)

 

There is a figure in the distance, standing on the side of the road.

 

Sisko thinks they might be waiting for them.


	4. The Nature of Destiny I

Sisko met Kirk, a lifetime ago. He’d looked the man in the eye, dressed in gold like the command officers used to wear, handed him an ancient PADD and spoke with him. It had been… memorable. For him, anyway.

 

“You were on my ship once, weren’t you?”

 

Kirk has a strange quality to his voice, a cross between authoritative and wondering. He sounds like a little boy and an old man, all in one— he _ looks _ like it, too, actually. Every time Sisko focuses on the man who’s slid into passenger seat beside him, he sees a different face— a small boy, round-faced and big-eyed, a dangerously thin, sharp-eyed teenager, a young man about Wesley’s age, dressed in cadet red, a captain dressed in command gold, an admiral dressed in red and white, a withered, ancient man.

 

He’s a lot of things, is Captain Kirk. Sort of distorted by a reality that Sisko can’t quite touch, and doesn’t really want to, for all that it calls to him.

 

“I was,” Sisko admits, giving Kirk a small smile. “There was time travel involved.”

 

“It’s not time travel for your kind,” Kirk says, arching an eyebrow. “It’s just travel.”

 

That makes Sisko laugh.

 

“You’re not wrong,” he says. “But the event that led to our first meeting was before I knew what I was.”

 

“And… what are you, if I may ask?” Kirk shifts, turning to look at Kes and Wesley piled together in the backseat. “Where do you all come from?”

 

Kes’ eyes widen, expression brightening.

 

“Oh, you’re not like us,” she says, looking incredibly pleased. “You’re not like us at all.”

 

Kirk smiles at her.

 

“No, I don’t suppose I am,” he agrees. “I’m Human.”

 

“I was Human,” Wesley says, speaking for the first time since Kirk introduced himself on the side of the road. He’s still a little starry-eyed, to be honest. “Now I’m a Traveler.”

 

“I’m an Ocampa,” Kes offers. “From the Delta Quadrant, originally.”

 

There’s a thrill of excitement that ripples through the car, Kirk’s eyes bright with questions. But he holds off, turning expectantly to Sisko, instead.

 

“I’m half-Human,” Sisko says. “And a Prophet. We are worshipped by the Bajorans, a species in the Bajor sector of the Alpha Quadrant. I served in Starfleet as the commander of a space station meant to aid reconstruction after the Cardassians relinquished control of the planet.”

 

“A god?” Kirk tilts his head to one side. “I’ve met gods before.”

 

“Worshipped as a god and being a god are two different things— we were talking about it earlier, actually.” Sisko looks back at the road. “No, I’m just another creature of the universe, just like everybody else.”

 

“You’re not like us,” Kes says again, but this time, her eyes are narrowed, a small frown marring her gentle face. “You’re… in another place, but you’re not. You’re trapped.”

 

“Am I?” Kirk’s brow furrows, his bright blue eyes thoughtful. “I don’t feel like I am.”

 

“Of course you don’t,” Wesley says. “That’s the nature of your cage.”

 

Sisko frowns, reaching out instinctively to catch the meaning of Wesley’s words.

 

“The Nexus?” he asks. “I… know that place.” He does, but he doesn’t. It’s the way most things are for him at this stage of his education.

 

“Paradise,” Kes says, words and gaze distant as she stretches herself far beyond the confines of the little world they find themselves in. “Perfect, unadulterated heaven. It’s a good place to be kept, I suppose.”

 

“... I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.” Kirk wrings his hands in his lap, fiddling with the hem of his faded gray t-shirt. “If I’m… trapped, then are you trapped too? Aren’t we all in the same place?”

 

“Not necessarily.” Sisko gives Kirk a small smile. “People like Wesley, Kes, and I could be in many places at once, if we so chose. You, however…”

 

“The Nexus fulfills its tenants’ every desire,” Wesley says, concentrating hard on… something. “You’ve always had the heart of a sailor, Admiral Kirk.”

 

“The Nexus simply responded to a wish,” Kes continues without pause. “You wanted to see something no one had ever seen before. The Nexus can’t create something out of nothing, though— it probably sent you here as a compromise.”

 

“This place isn’t real,” Sisko explains. “But it is new. Likely you’ll disappear the moment you get bored again.”

 

“... And if I don’t get bored?” Kirk asks.

 

“You will,” Wesley promises, expression clearing. “You will, because in 2371, you meet my old captain and save the people of Veridian IV. It says so in the Starfleet databanks.”

 

“Oh, from which century?” Kes asks, turning to Wesley. “Is there footage?”

 

“But what if I don’t want to?” Kirk asks. “Pretty as a gilded cage may be, it’s still remains a cage… I’ve never done well with cages.”

 

“I know,” Sisko says. “But the universe will always move the way it's meant, if the Prophets are to be believed. We cannot alter its course.”

 

“Destiny?” Kirk says, incredulous. “I’m destined to be a prisoner?”

 

“Destined to be a hero,” Wesley corrects. “Through your sacrifice, you save a quarter of a billion people. You stop their sun from exploding.”

 

“... Oh.” Kirk sits back. “Is there… is there no way to stop it?”

 

“Not without changing the universe in ways we can’t begin to understand,” Kes admits, a little sad. “No, it has to be you. And in order for you to be available when the time comes, you need to remain in the Nexus, free of age and death. You’re right when you call yourself Human— you are just as fragile, as easily taken from the world as we once were.”

 

“I don’t think we could pull you out, anyway,” Wesley says, looking a little annoyed at the idea. “We’re not that powerful.”

 

“But… what about Spock?” Kirk asks, voice cracking. “And Bones? What about the rest of my crew?”

 

“Montgomery Scott was still alive, last I checked,” Wesley volunteers. “My mother’s ship found him seventy years after you disappeared. He’d somehow managed to save an imprint of himself in a transporter. Admiral McCoy was still around, too— he made a few visits to the Enterprise, over the years, as did Ambassador Spock.”

 

Kirk’s face softens, mouth parting slightly.

 

_ “Ambassador  _ Spock,” he repeats quietly. “Ambassador to where?”

 

“Romulus.” Sisko gives him a small smile. “He was working in secret, trying to forge a bond between Vulcan and Romulus on which to build peace. I met him, once or twice.”

 

Kirk lets out a little, wondering laugh.

 

“Ambassador Spock, Ambassador to Romulus.” He laughs again. “And _ Admiral  _ McCoy! After the earful he gave me for pulling him out of retirement, and he goes on to be an admiral.” He sighs. “I knew he loved the ‘fleet.”

 

“We all did,” Kes says. “We all do.”

 

“But we don’t belong there anymore,” Wesley says. “Or at least, not for a long while.”

 

Kirk doesn’t answer that, but he doesn’t need to. They can feel his heartache, his pang of loneliness as the knowledge of his friends’ futures shift and settle in his chest. It’s hard, Sisko imagines, to know that the ones you loved have moved beyond you, no matter how happy you are for them.

 

He knows that’s what waits for him, if he’s not careful.

 

“You know,” Wesley says, almost idly. “Admiral McCoy and Ambassador Spock have a  _ legendary  _ friendship, in the ‘fleet. The first officer on the _ Enterprise  _ saw them hug, once.”

 

Kirk’s head whips around.

 

_ “What?” _

 

Wesley nods, apparently unbothered by the urgency of his question.

 

“I mean, they’ve supposedly been friends since they served together, obviously, but Riker swears that McCoy dropped his drink and rushed him when they saw each other again— and he was in his hundred-thirties, I think, at that point.” He pauses. “Data says Ambassador Spock hugged him back, even though McCoy was spitting insults all the while.”

 

“He tended to do that,” Kirk says, smile as big and bright as the Terran sun. “They both did. It’s how they showed affection.”

 

The heartache is still there, when he settles back into his seat, but there’s something warmer there, too, a comfort that Sisko doesn’t want to look at too closely. He may be steps away from omniscient, but he understands privacy, too, and sometimes, it’s better to leave people and their emotions to themselves.

 

“I want to listen to music,” Kes says suddenly, meeting Sisko’s eyes in the rearview. “Find me something Terran, please? Paris always had old Terran music playing, back when we had off-time together.”

 

Sisko smiles at her, reaching for the dial and turning until he finds a clear station. [It opens suddenly with a choir, devolving into staccato drums and guitar.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LQiOA7euaYA)

 

“I feel like a bonfire,” Wesley says over the music. “Can we have a bonfire?”

 

As if on cue, a sign appears in the distance, just big enough that Sisko can make out the word  _ campground. _

 

“I haven’t gone camping in a long time,” Kirk says wistfully.

 

“I’ve never been,” Kes says.

 

“In which case, it’ll be an adventure for all of us,” Sisko says. “Let’s go.”


	5. The Nature of Destiny II

 

The evening is pleasantly cool, the fire built high and flickering merrily in time to the music rolling from the car radio. [Kes and Wesley, high on sugar and some kind of special brownies that Wesley managed to procure from God only knows where, dance as best as they can manage along to a whining voice and electric guitar, laughing all the while as they stumble and fall into each other](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kynj_fzx2EI). Sisko and Kirk are settled comfortably by the fire, making use of a pair of folding chairs that Sisko hadn’t known were packed in the trunk of his car, along with sleeping bags and a tent big enough for the four of them.

 

It’s a calm, peaceful night. The stars shine above their heads, the sounds of the desert fall into a quiet, soothing murmur, and Kirk hasn’t felt like this since his last shore leave to Yellowstone, laid out under the stars between Bones and Spock.

 

He doesn’t know the names of the constellations overhead, but for once, he finds he doesn’t mind too much, either.

 

“This place isn’t real, is it?” he asks idly, looking over at Sisko.

 

The other man hums.

 

“I don’t believe so,” he says. “Not in the usual way, anyway. I’m quite sure I created it.”

 

Kirk blinks.

 

“You did a nice job,” he says. “It’s perfect.”

 

“For now.” Sisko reaches into the space between them, hands disappearing into a cooler that had also been in the trunk of his car and reappearing with a beer-like drink in a can. He cracks it open with his thumb and takes a sip. “I don’t know what will happen to it when I leave.”

 

For a moment, Kirk’s heart clenches at the thought. There are people here, he knows— the fur-faced proprietor of the campground, the seven-eyed girl behind the counter who took their money and gave them a map of the property, the park ranger who had waved at them as they drove past, green tentacles shiny with natural slime in the headlights.

 

“It will always be here,” Kirk says instead, forcing himself to relax. “So long as you remember it, it will be here.”

 

“Of course.”

 

There’s a pause, long enough to become comfortable again, until Kirk decides to break it.

 

“I don’t believe in destiny,” he says. “I don’t believe the universe is already set in stone. I believe choices _ matter.” _

 

“They do,” Sisko agrees. “They matter more than you or I or anyone else can begin to understand.”

 

“I also believe,” Kirk continues doggedly. “That… people are _ meant  _ to do things. They can choose _ not _ to, but there are paths laid out, just for them, but they can choose another road.”

 

Sisko stays quiet, dark eyes bright and intent when they meet Kirk’s.

 

“I don’t think I’ll be able to be happy in the Nexus, knowing what it is,” Kirk says, bowing his head. “I can’t be, knowing the world is still turning without me. But if I don’t return… people might die. A lot of people.”

 

“Captivity wouldn’t suit you, Captain Kirk,” Sisko agrees quietly.

 

“It doesn’t suit anyone.” Kirk runs a hand through blond-brown curls. “But that’s besides the point. I— I choose lives, Sisko. I choose to save them. But I don’t think I have the will to wait, unknowing, until the day I’m freed to do it.”

 

“Then what do you want to do?”

 

Kirk looks up.

 

“I want to forget,” he says, face stony. “Ignorance is bliss, and until the time comes, I want no memory of this place, of what the Nexus is, in truth. I want to be free, at least in my own mind, until the time comes for me to do what I’m meant to do.”

 

Sisko’s expression is hidden by the darkness, twisted by the half-light of the fire. Kirk can’t begin to tell what he’s thinking, what decision he might come to.

 

“We can do that,” he says finally. “I think we could, anyway. But are you sure, Kirk?”

 

“Jim, please.” He gives Sisko a small smile. “And yes, I am. I know myself, Sisko. I’d lose my mind in that place, knowing what I know now.”

 

“Ben,” Sisko says, because it’s only fair. “You can call me Ben, Jim. If I’m going to be fiddling with your memory, we ought to be on a first name basis, I think.”

 

Kirk’s lip quirks.

 

“You’re a good man, Ben,” he says. “And a good captain, from what I can tell.”

 

“Not a captain any longer,” Sisko says. “A Prophet.”

 

“Who says you can’t be both?”

 

“I do.”

 

Kirk makes a small noise, like maybe he understands, and turns back to the fire.

 

“Tell me about something interesting,” he says, not looking at Sisko. “Something from your travels.”

 

“Something interesting?” Sisko hums thoughtfully. There are a lot of interesting things he could talk about, things that would keep Kirk enthralled for hours.

 

He settles on something strange.

 

“There is a world,” he starts at last. “Where Starfleet and the Federation are simply aspects of a television show, one that spans fifty years in the making.”

 

Kirk laughs.

 

“Is there?” he asks wonderingly. “People watch it?”

 

“They do.” Sisko smiles. “They watched you first, and fell in love with your morality and your acceptance. Then, they watched Picard— the man who was Wesley’s captain— and they fell in love with his rules, his bouts of silliness. Then they watched me, then Captain Janeway, of the  _ Voyager,  _ who met Kes in the Delta quadrant, then Captain Archer, at the beginning of it all. They dream of a day when their world will be like ours, and they can see the stars and go on great adventures like we did.”

 

“One day they will,” Kirk says.

 

“Of course they will,” Sisko agrees, sipping his beer. “It’s the way of things.”

 

Wesley and Kes collapse on the ground on the other side of the fire, breathless with laughter and exertion.

 

“Tell us a story, Sisko, won’t you?” Kes asks, eyes wide and earnest.

 

Sisko huffs a laugh, then leans forward, drink dangling from his fingers.

 

“What sort of story would you like to hear?”

**Author's Note:**

> If you would like to see the art that inspired this fic, please go to:
> 
> http://bravinto.tumblr.com/post/174638312862/heres-our-turn-for-startrekreversebang-heres
> 
> Their art is fantastic and everyone should go and enjoy it!


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